


Touch

by TheVulcanBobDylan



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulcanBobDylan/pseuds/TheVulcanBobDylan
Summary: Back to work after her cancer cure, Laura goes looking for one thing, and finds something else entirely.
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing sex, but these two won't get out of my head. Takes place in season 2, between episode 13 "Epiphanies" and episode 14 "Black Market"

He was falling for her and she knew it.

Maybe it was more right to say that he _had_ fallen for her - was already smitten. She could see it in his eyes now in every briefing, every meeting. Every time he looked at her, he wasn’t just seeing her - he was _checking on her_. Worrying about her. It made her blood boil.

Laura tapped her pen against her desk, frowning across the semi-darkness of her makeshift office from her circle of lamplight. She had long since dismissed Billy for the night, but if she could just catch up on a little bit more work… Her recovery had been miraculous, to be sure, but not without its discomforts. She was so behind, and her brain and body just weren’t ready for the extra effort of catching up, not yet.

Add to that the condescending concern she read in every eye, and she felt rage building inside her, even now, alone in the quiet. The last thing she needed was a bunch of well-meaning _men_ trying to exploit every perceived weakness. It was bad enough without being seen in the corridors of the Galactica in a wheelchair.

The wheelchair, in which the Admiral had steered her into the room, still sat there innocuously, though she’d been up and moving around under her own power for most of the day. She glowered at it, glowered inwardly at all of them.

It was enough to deal with coming from the snakes, Zarek and Baltar and the rest of them. But Adama, that well-intentioned, military-minded, chivalrous brute, and the _warmth_ in his eyes - the absolute innocence in his “good to have you back, Madam President,” all deep, gravelly tones. She had smiled at him, muttered the customary platitudes. She wanted to deck him. The fact that he clearly loved her made it all the worse. When had this happened? On Kobol? Surely not before? And then, that kiss. At the time it had been nothing - a goodbye. Gods, she had kissed him back like a schoolgirl, utterly at a loss for what else to do. It had been a simple goodbye between two professionals, a gesture of mutual respect and admiration. That was all. If she was honest, she had felt some affection for him, then. Perhaps not as much as he had felt for her.

Her mind flashed back to the morning - concluding her debrief with Adama, both of them moving to rise from their seats, he had seamlessly moved to her side and offered her his arm - and she had _frakking taken it_. Leaned heavily on him, let him help her to her feet. It was a gesture of habit for both of them, an innocent thing. They had smiled at each other then, more or less genuinely, both coming to the same realization that she no longer needed him that way. And with that infuriating little grin, he’d left.

Taking off her glasses, she massaged the bridge of her nose. At least with Richard, there had been - but then again, Richard Adar had never looked at her like - 

She pushed her work, and the thoughts, away. This was ridiculous. Her exhaustion was getting the better of her. Best to focus on recovering physically for now. She could hand them their asses tomorrow, rested.

* * *

The idea formed itself over the course of a few days. Laura felt more or less back to her old self, and she’d made damn sure the others felt it too. Things were moving along again at their usual halting pace, or at least close enough that she couldn’t complain. The hot rage that she’d felt prickling under her cheekbones had subsided for now.

Physically, she felt better than she had in years. There was just one thing nagging at her mind, and it had taken a few days to figure out what it was. _Touch._ Billy and the Admiral and even Apollo, all of them standing close by her shoulder, wordlessly taking some of her weight in case her knees should give out, helping her stand tall to her duties.

In the days since her final treatment, every ounce of that touch had evaporated. Now, bristling and presidential, she was afforded a wide berth by everyone, even those three who had been so solid at her side for so long. Prior to her illness, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her that way. Before the attack there had been Richard, of course, but he had been something else - more a sparring partner than a lover. Certainly never a support. She’d enjoyed it, at least most of the time. It was _something_. It made her angry to admit it, but she longed for the touch, any touch.

There was, of course, one way to get it. It wasn’t kind, or particularly ethical, but these were strange times, and the idea nagged at her. People, she reasoned, did it every day.

The opportunity came after a working dinner in his quarters. They’d had food brought in late, still arguing their way through rations and economics and percolating unrest. Billy and Apollo had been dismissed at last and Laura had offered to stay, just to go over a few more things. But now he was staring at her over the rim of his just-filled ambrosia tumbler - he’d filled hers too, though it sat untouched on the table. Her mind was swirling, more than she liked. Was he trying to ply her with alcohol? Was he going to make a move before she could make hers? And if he did, could she accept?

She had seduced and been seduced before - she wasn’t naive. But there was something more to this - knowing his feelings all too well, knowing her own intentions, and under it all, the absolute _need_ to be touched again, to break the hollow bubble of isolation that sometimes threatened to suffocate her.

He could probably read as much in her eyes as she could in his, she noted with a touch of dismay. It had been too long since she’d played these games, and Gods knew she was tired. He sat there, just waiting, ever patient. 

“You look good, Laura. How are you feeling?” He sat as still as a statue, except to take the tiniest sip from his glass. They’d been playing at it for a while, but first names still seemed to carry special intent between them.

Was this his move? She gave him a friendly smile, letting her eyes close. She hoped it conveyed warmth rather than the pang of self-consciousness that she felt. “Much better. Thank you, Bill.” A beat. “Thank you for everything.” That was sincere.

He didn’t move a muscle, watching her infuriatingly. His smile and the eye contact were almost too much for her, and she took a sip of her drink at last.

“Shall we continue?” he asked finally, turning over a page from a stack at his elbow.

She raised her eyebrows at him. Was that it? Gods, she was going to have to do this herself after all. “Of course,” she said, blinking to clear her head. _Out of practice_. She downed her drink. Then, willing her knees not to shake, she rose, picked up his stack of papers, and half sat against the table in their place, raising one leg till her skirt hiked up, baring just a few inches of her thigh. She knew he was looking up at her, could almost anticipate the bemused expression, though she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. His arm was nearly brushing against her skirt, and she wondered how long she could hold the pages steady.

He really did brush against her slightly as he reached for the bottle to refill her glass. She was shuffling through the papers, not really reading them, when he took the stack from her hand and offered her the glass instead. “Maybe the rest of these can wait,” he suggested, raising his own glass to lightly touch hers. “To a new lease on life.” They both drank, maintaining their gaze over the rims of the tumblers.

She only hummed in response, letting a smile play at the corners of her mouth. He returned his glass to the table and stood so that he was looking down at her. Then he took her chin in his hand, just as he’d done once before, and brushed his lips against hers. It was barely a kiss, but it electrified her. 

He pulled back. “Laura -” he began, as if to offer her an out.

She placed two fingers on his lips. “Bill.” She shook her head slightly, cutting him off. Then she let him move her hand away and kiss her again, more firmly this time. For someone who had come here to do the seducing, she was certainly letting him guide her every step of the way. But the way he touched her, so gently that he must think her fragile, made her ache inside. She would’ve hated it anywhere else, but now she longed for it, longed for more.

Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, and one of his to the small of her back. She opened her mouth to him and let his tongue trace her lips, a little sigh escaping her. He pulled her closer so that she was forced to stand up from her perch on the table, their bodies pressing together, their kiss deepening. His fingers delicately lifted the back of her blouse, sliding underneath the cool fabric to press against her skin. The warmth of the touch made her tremble, and she broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to gather herself again. Her breathing was a little ragged despite all her efforts to stay composed.

He pulled back, lifting her chin to study her face. His eyes were impossibly deep - Gods, he must know everything she was thinking. She knew she was blushing, and he smiled. His hand moved to caress the side of her face, and then, surprising her, he kissed her forehead. He knew exactly what she was doing, she thought with a pang of something like terror. He was letting her use him to satisfy her need. A tiny sound escaped her as she leaned into him. His presence was so sturdy, so steadying. Suddenly she regretted everything, wanted to run - but she couldn’t break away from that warm palm against her back, the thumb tracing tiny circles on her skin.

“May I -” he asked, his fingers moving to linger at the buttons of her blouse. Still lost in her thoughts, she nodded, and he began undoing them slowly. Her blouse fell open just slightly, baring the curve of her breasts above the cups of her bra. His hand parted the fabric and slipped inside to press against her belly. She felt he was holding her together - his hands in front and back, filling her with warmth for the first time in so long. She might’ve known he would be tender with her like this, but she hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel, how irresistible.

She slipped her arms around his neck, moving against him slightly as his hand slid upward, infuriatingly slowly, to cup her breast over her bra. She buried her face in his hair behind his ear, squeezing her eyes shut, fragile and regretful and nearly overcome with pleasure.

His fingers traced her collarbone, the curve of her breast and her waist, then slid into the waistband of her skirt. She smiled and hummed into his neck as he tugged at it teasingly. His hand on her back found the zipper and she felt the garment fall about her ankles, his hands following it downward as they caressed her thighs. She shivered. 

Then his warm palm was back in the small of her back, supporting her, as the knuckles of his other hand traced over the outside of her underwear. She could feel the wetness edging out of her, and wondered if he could feel it already. She was absently kissing his neck as he continued to stroke her through the thin fabric, his knuckles gently pressing in, spreading her open just above her clitoris, applying the faintest pressure, the smallest circles. She moved her hips against his hand and he hummed into her shoulder, nudging the collar of her open blouse away, kissing the smooth skin beneath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, barely audible.

She was clinging to him now, her legs barely strong enough to hold her. Then he was sliding her underwear over her hips, pushing it just low enough to get access with his fingers, spreading her wetness gently upward. She arched her back, moaning now. When his fingers entered her she cried out softly - “Gods!” - while his thumb continued its soft pressure on her clit. She collapsed against the edge of the table, wrapping one of her bare legs around his calf. She was close, her eyes squeezed shut so tightly that they were beginning to water.

“Laura.” His gravelly voice thrummed against her neck. The way he intoned her first name was always reverent, even more intimate than his touch.

“Oh Gods Bill,” she moaned, her hips bucking involuntarily into his hand. When she said his name he moaned with her, and his fingers deep inside her finally pushed her over the edge, her climax utterly shaking her. Her knees gave way and he was holding her, trapped between his body and the table. He continued stroking her lightly as her shudders subsided, his hand moving up the curve of her back, his lips grazing her shoulder and neck. Unwilling to break their embrace just yet, she nuzzled her face into him, clinging to him with both arms. For a long moment, he simply held her.

Finally he pulled out, drawing one last shudder from her. She looked at him with wet eyes found him surprised and moved at how freely she opened herself to him - just for a moment until the eye contact was too much for both of them and he broke it by kissing her.

“Please, Laura, come to bed with me,” he pleaded, meeting her eyes with an earnestness that two hours ago would've infuriated her. She simply nodded, let him lead her by the hand to his rack. He pressed her down onto the mattress and stood before her, finally pushing her blouse down her arms, tossing it onto the floor. Then he reached behind her and deftly unclasped her bra, letting it fall loose in front of her, still barely covering her. He held her gaze as he gently pushed the straps aside until it fell in her lap and she pushed it off her elbows and onto the floor. Then he knelt between her legs, taking her breasts in his two hands, thumbing the nipples so lightly that she gasped. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone and then finally pulled her underwear the rest of the way down. He chuckled when he got to her ankles and realized she was still wearing her shoes. It made her shiver the way he gently removed each one before sliding her underwear off her feet, caressing her soles.

She sat there, fully naked and trembling, as he stood back and quickly divested himself of his uniform, pulling his tanks over his head in a stiff gesture that bared his scars to her for the first time. She gasped audibly and he stopped, meeting her gaze in a moment of absolute silence.

“Bill!” she whispered at last. She reached up and let her fingertips graze the red weal that traversed his chest and abdomen, all but healed now. “Is it… do they…”

“They hurt a little,” he admitted, suddenly seeming to feel his age. She leaned her forehead against his ribcage, kissing the soft flesh of his side, running her hands up under his arms to his shoulder blades. 

He hastily stepped out of his underwear and she took his hands and pulled him to her. He pushed her down onto the bed and knelt over her, meeting her gaze in an intimate pause. “Are you alright?” She nodded. He reached between her legs then, and she looked at the bulkheads as he entered her, thick and full. He pressed himself deeper, impossibly slowly, and her eyes closed again as he leaned his body over her, wrapped her in his arms. His thrusting started slow and gentle, and she kept her elbows against his chest, wanting to feel completely enveloped by him. 

He increased in speed gradually, kissing her face, her forehead, her hair, his breath huffing out against her skin as his pleasure began to overtake him. Inside her, the deep pleasure was coming to the brink of pain as his movements became more forceful, his rhythm more erratic. Their warmth, their sweat, was mingling between them, and Laura groaned, clenching the pillow in one fist against the pain of his deep thrusts.

“Oh, Laura,” he moaned into her ear, losing himself in her. She let go of her grip on the pillow and tangled her fingers in his hair, kissing him as the last of his spasms slowed.

Then he pushed himself up on one elbow, his other arm still wrapped around her, and studied her face. The eye contact seemed to cut straight through her. Suddenly she felt her eyes welling up with tears that came from nowhere, a painful lump in her throat, and before either of them could say anything the tears were spilling over in a flood, her breath coming in gasps. And he was brushing them away frantically, kissing her hair, pulling her against him, desperately saying “Laura, did I hurt you? Laura, I’m so sorry,” murmuring to her as the sobs racked her body and she was helpless to stop them. She buried her face in his chest, shaking her head, and he must have known that she wasn’t angry with him then, because he drew the blanket over both of them and shushed her, stroking her hair and holding her until the sobs subsided.

It was everything - the diagnosis and the apocalypse, the presidency and the politics, and above all, the crushing responsibility she felt for the life of every human left living in the universe. It was the grief she had not given herself a moment to feel - the grief for her own life and for billions of others. “In war you only die once,” she remembered telling Bill, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She hadn’t expected him to be the one standing at her elbow in front of the Quorum. She certainly hadn’t expected him to be cradling her in bed, holding her and her burdens both.

Even wrapped in the intimacy he had shown her, she could say none of this. When she was able to look at him again, she lifted her tear-streaked face to his gaze, two red-hot patches under her cheekbones blushing fiercely.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling, shaking her head. “You didn’t hurt me. I wanted every bit of that. I just didn’t expect it to feel so…” she trailed off.

“So what?” he prompted, still brushing tears from her cheeks.

She shook her head slightly, meaning to indicate that she couldn’t find the word, but it came anyway, unbidden - “Safe.”

He smiled then, and pulled her to him tightly. “Will you stay? I’ll keep you safe as long as you need.”

She hummed into his chest, smiling too. The way his body pressed against her, the warm and unbroken contact, was just the touch she had been needing. But the warmth wasn’t just from his skin. The love he felt for her was in every inch of him, and she found herself snuggling into it, cherishing it. She knew she would flee in the morning, back to Colonial One to agonize over this, to regret it. She would admonish herself for crying, for being so free with him, for calling him “safe”.

Still, it was surprisingly comfortable, wrapped in his arms, with none of that awkward jutting of elbows that usually made bed-sharing such a pain. She tried to ignore the thought that they fit together neatly. His breathing was deep and even. Nestled against his chest, she let sleep take her.


End file.
